


heathen clung to the homily

by glasspeach



Category: Immortal Days | 불멸의 날들
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I guess..., M/M, [has a bunch of cool ideas] [never writes them] hell yeah, theyre literally just sleeping together in a bed.. thas all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:33:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24730867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glasspeach/pseuds/glasspeach
Summary: After a harrowing day of work, Myeol does not want to leave.
Relationships: Myeol | Myeolmang/Phill
Comments: 10
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> let me rest... i will edit later....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is an announcement for this account (no update)

1:34.

Myeol stares at the blinking alarm face in the kitchen. Technically he has to go home. Technically he has to get some sleep before another day of work, has to board a bus or the subway or a taxi and find his way to his barren apartment, where he’ll eke out two or three hours of sleep before waking up again and then stare at the ceiling before getting up to exercise, and then shower, and change, and head over to Phill’s office.

But he’s standing in Phill’s kitchen, drinking a glass of milk, staring at the clock. He knows he needs to leave, to go before Phill realizes he stayed the night without sleep and just wandered around his house like a ghost. Not that Phill will mind that much, probably. For anyone else, he would be freaked out and angry, and demand for them to leave his house before throwing them out with a kick to the ass and a door in their face. For Myeol, he’ll probably start out being angry, then frustrated, and then just exasperated, and then Myeol will probably borrow some of his clothes and then they’ll start a new day troubleshooting, just like that.

That Phill doesn’t really have a problem with Myeol being here, at his house, is the point. Because Myeol has stayed over a dozen times already, on the couch or even in Phill’s bed from injuries, and Phill hasn’t done much either than nag the hell out of him. But it would, granted, be a little weird for someone if their employee didn’t leave the house when they told them they were going to bed, which was two hours ago, and said employee instead just hung around until morning without sleeping, like a stalker. But it’s 1:34 am, and Myeol can’t fucking get to sleep because he can’t bring himself to leave and go home like a normal person, and he also can’t bring himself to just suck it up and sleep on the couch either. Neither option sounds appetizing when his head’s been pounding like a blacksmith’s anvil, even with medicine, and his hands are shaking so badly that he has to regularly set his mug on the counter and stare at them until he feels like he can pick it up again. He’s been doing this for two hours, ever since Phill went to sleep, ever since he should have left and gone home.

This time, when his hands shake and jostle the milk in his mug so badly it almost slips, he leaves it on the counter and tears his eyes away from the clock and turns towards Phill’s bedroom. Phill’s not the deepest sleeper, but Myeol is even quieter on his feet, so he quietly pushes the door open and steps into the threshold between the bedroom and the living room. Something clenches unconsciously in his jaw when he sees the careless way Phill is sprawled in his bed, one hand behind his head and the other on his stomach, sleeping as soundly as can be. There’s something about the peacefulness of it, even knowing that he sleeps with a gun under his pillow, that makes Myeol’s head hurt even worse. The peace of mind that Phill has, to sleep so soundly and comfortable, like they weren’t just in a firefight mere hours before, like he doesn’t have multiple healing cuts and bruises, like the bullets fired at him were feathers out of a down pillow instead of projectiles that could kill him if even just one hit.

Myeol is not bothered, at this point, that he also wears a bulletproof vest now, that he was also shot at. He took measures to conceal his body, to take better cover, to mind his goddamn steps. Phill has never treated his mortality as something so precious. Myeol always has. He’s too used to it not to. If that bastard can’t do it himself, then Myeol will worry about him, for his safety and health and life, because no matter how much he likes or dislikes the man, how uncomfortable with his morals and standards he is, he cannot just let go.

They are, after all, the same.

And Myeol is so, so tired of being alone.

Even if Phill is using him, even if his plans are worse than sinister, the feeling of being cared for, of his safety being in question, feel like stepping into warm water. It feels like a cool balm on burning cuts, an ice pack on bruises, like the healed scar on the back of his head. This, Myeol thinks, is probably what doping feels like. When was the last time in his years that he tripped and fell and saw the ground rushing towards him, and someone caught him? How addicting, care is. He thinks that if Phill ever gets rid of him, if for some reason everything just doesn’t work out and they go their own ways, he will never, ever feel this way again. There is no comfort in the world that can compare to someone knowing you, and caring despite what they have seen.

For a second, he imagines doing what he wants to. He imagines crawling into bed with him, laying under the sheets and curling into Phill’s arms and ignoring whatever ruckus Phill might make, and going to sleep right there, with someone who knows him holding him. He stares, and he stares, and his hands shake and his head hurts, and finally he turns himself around and leaves, and he goes to sleep on the couch.

-

Phill wakes up. He stares wide-eyed at the ceiling for a while and then lifts his arm to check his watch. 2:45. Why the hell is he awake. He hasn't had nearly enough time to rest after such a harrowing day, and he fucking deserves it after the heart attack Meyol almost gave him when he threw Banachet out of the way and nearly took a bullet through a lung if not for the bulletproof vest Phill’s been having him wear. Fuck. Just thinking about it is gonna give him brain damage. Tossing his head back to his pillow, he drags his hand down his face, he gives up trying not to think about Myeol and instead starts wondering if Myeol got home okay, or if somehow their combined shitty luck means that he got jumped on the way there and is now in a dumpster or under 500 feet of water. Fuck. That’s not fucking better.

Phill shoves himself out of bed with a huff, stalking out into his living room in his pajama pants to watch some shitty mortal-era movies to put himself to bed. But he doesn’t get to do that, because he freezes while rubbing his neck with his mouth open, staring at his couch like a fucking idiot, because Myeol is sleeping there, curled up like a cat. On his couch.

Myeol, who didn’t leave, Myeol, who instead of waking him up and asking for a blanket or an escort home is now sleeping on his couch, because he never left. Something in Phill’s head says the words, Thank god. He never left. He stayed right here. Myeol didn’t go home, he chose to stay in Phill’s home and sleep on the couch instead of going back to his own apartment, his own bedroom.

Now, that something in Phill’s head says, how do I get him to stay forever?

Phill doesn’t listen to that something in his head, because whatever thoughts he may or may not have had upon seeing Myeol sleeping on his couch (again) are irrelevant and not to be trifled with. Phill is not an idiot, and so he refuses to think about his thoughts because his thoughts make him look like an idiot, which he is not.

Instead, he stand there and he stares at the way Myeol is curled up in his sleep, with his thighs drawn up and his arms pressed in and his hands around the sides of his head like he’s trying to stop his brain from leaking out of his ears. Suddenly, impossibly, Phill knows that whatever loneliness he has suffered in his life is nothing like what Myeol has gone through, and is nothing like what he still goes through, despite Phill’s presence.

Phill does not feel sadness, or anger for others, but if he did, it would probably feel something like how he feels right now.

And because Phill does not feel sadness or anger for others, he picks Myeol up gently and tells himself that it’s for his own personal benefit, that he’s trying to make Myeol more comfortable so that he’ll stay. He repeats this in his head while he’s lying Myeol down in his own bed, while he rolls his eyes at the fact that Myeol is wearing Phill’s sweats but didn’t grab a blanket, and he tells himself this when he tucks them both under the covers together.

Despite all his insistent thinking, though, he still lets out a short puff of breath when he tucks Myeol’s head under his chin and Myeol’s hands unconsciously move to rest against his collarbone and his ribs.

This, that something in his head says, is what being known feels like.

He falls back asleep like that, tucked around Myeol and held in return, and he doesn’t dream at all.


	2. Chapter 2

I’m posting this as an announcement for this account, and this will be copied to other fics as well, so if they update just know it’s not an actual update. In light of ao3 allowing written porn of real minors, I will be moving to fanfiction.online (still glasspeach). All works of mine from here on out will be cross-posted to fanfiction.online, although I will leave them up on here. I currently have multiple Hades fics in the making, as well as some wips for omniscient reader that may be re-vamped and uploaded, as well as a plan for a Mandalorian fic, so there’s that to look forward to. Thank you for your support, and I hope to see you all in the future.

**Author's Note:**

> title from moment's silence (common tongue) by hozier but is subject to change. please read immortal days!!


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